


A Wizard's Peril

by soyforramen



Category: Archie Comics, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, hiram being the villian; reggie being the joker; cheryl being the vengeful possessed fox, with appearances from pop tate; hermosa; and who knows who else, with the rest of the cast
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27016069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soyforramen/pseuds/soyforramen
Summary: Veronica escaped her father's clutches to the small valley town of Eldervair.  But with the death of the last Blossom wizard the only remaining threat to her father's empire has fallen, and Veronica must stand up to him or lose everything once again. Or, a small novela based on a (mostly) random list of prompts.
Relationships: Archie Andrews/Veronica Lodge
Kudos: 3





	1. Mirror, Mirror

“Mirror, Mirror, on the wall,” Hiram muttered as he adjusted his suit lapels. 

Preening in a magic mirror never felt as good as it did after a potential threat to the empire was dispatched. Rumors of the last Blossom sorcerer’s death had been floating through the court for the last month; it was only this morning that those rumors were confirmed. 

The swatch of red hair and spider signet ring on his desk proved it. 

“Will there be anything else, my liege?” Malachi asked. 

Hiram waved him away. Mercenaries were only good for one thing, and it certainly wasn’t fashion advice. Malachi bowed low, and while Hiram thought he detected a hint of sarcasm in the deprecation he was too elated by the good news to have him thrown in the dungeon for blatant disrespect. After all, Malachi and his Ghouls proved useful when it came to the dirtier work the Lodge Empire needed.

Ask no questions and be able to claim plausible deniability at later inquests might well have been the Lodge credo. 

Not that there were any true inquests available. Great-grand-father Lodge took care of those. 

The flick of a page irritated Hiram enough that he turned towards his eldest daughter. He pursed his lips at the image - her legs thrown over the arm and her dress was a garish red color. Certainly not a proper image of authority. Recently he’d wondered whether he’d had the wrong daughter killed; Veronica at least knew proper decorum despite her tendency to question everything.

Hermosa, finally realizing she was under parental scrutiny, swung her legs around to sit up properly. “Well, Papi? Now what?”

Hiram grinned. He always did love spelling out his own nefarious plans to a willing audience. 

“Now we move on Eldervair.”


	2. Abandoned

Cheryl scowled at her corpse. It wasn’t supposed to abandon life that easily. One broad headed arrow, undetected by her magics, and boom. She was as dead as Penelope Blossom’s maternal instincts.

Well, almost. At least Cheryl left behind a pretty corpse. 

Death had come at an inopportune time, as it usually did, and Cheryl fought the urge to curse the God of Death. After all, he had done her some favors recently, even if they were the sorts of favors one would expect from a djinn or a jester. 

Cheryl narrowed her eyes. Without life to obscure her view with all of the small things that seemed so important, she could now focus on the bigger things. Like finding a vessel to ride around in until she accomplished what she came to Eldervair to do. There, in a bush not too far away, was a fox. A vixen, to be precise.

Sidling up to the creature, Cheryl took more care than normal to insert herself into its mind. After all, now that she was dead there was only one chance at this. If her soul was rejected by the creature there would be no escaping the reaper that would surely be after her. With a moment’s hesitation, a sudden kick from the fox’s own simple mind, and Cheryl was firmly entrenched. 

She stretched, her mind relishing the sensation of being corporal again, her muscles, bones and nerves all lighting up with delight. With that taken care of, Cheryl trotted towards the town and tried to ignore the sudden craving for field mice.


	3. Coming Dread

Veronica stopped short in her sweeping, the broom still quivering in her hand. It jerked in her hands, frustrated by being away from its purpose. She let it go to continue sweeping the floor; after all, the tavern was empty in the heat of the afternoon so there would be no one to notice the broom moved of its own accord. Peering out of the windows she could see a dark, summer storm building to a crescendo, a dark ominous threat to the small valley town.

Something was on the wind. A sudden change that brought with it a sudden surge of fear. 

“Something on your mind, Veronica?” 

Pop Tate’s voice made her jump and she set a hand on her chest to still her heart. Of all the people in the world, Pop Tate was the one person she felt no fear from. He’d been the first to take her in when she’d arrived in Eldervair, closer to death than a ghost. And he’d treated like family despite the town’s natural inclination against outsiders and were worse against those who had even a drop of magic in their blood.

“Just the weather,” she said, swallowing down the gnawing claw of dread.

He leaned over the bar counter to peer out of the window. “Summer storm. We get them all the time. No one comes in during storms like that if you want to close up early.”

Veronica shook her head. Something told her that no matter where she went - staying here at the tavern or going to the musty barn loft she called home - the trouble on the horizon would find her. 

“I think I’ll stay,” she said with a wry smile. “We might have a bone weary travel come through tonight.”

Pop laughed; she’d been the only new person to come to town in fifty-three years. “Maybe you’ll finally find your knight in shining armor.”

She snorted. The last time she’d looked for a white knight… absently her hand traced the scar that blemished her stomach, a wicked, vile thing that vined across her body. A reminder that no one could be trusted. 

“I’ll lower my expectations for a bard,” Veronica said as she bid Pop’s a farewell for the night. 

With one last glance at the storm she shuttered the windows and lit the lanterns. It was going to be a long, lonely night, but it beat being dead by her father’s hand.


End file.
